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Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The cotton in your mind protects you.

—

Ao3

Note: My first ever yan work! This is a bit of a mess, but I’ll bet five dollars and janitorial duty at Taco Bell that it’s a good mess 👍 and I make the banner and stuff prettier when I get back to my computer

TW: Stockholm syndrome, implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts, mild gore (but prose uses gory language), reader goes through and let’s just say aventurine is a terrible influence, tonal whiplash for my own sanity

(Written before 2.1)

—

The sun sets as you both bask in the afterglow. Clouds streak the baby blue sky, hued in soft yellows, calm oranges, and blushing pink. 

(And it reminds you of his eyes) 

Sights like these made nights spent in a casino a bit more bearable. You take a deep breath, sighing in contentment and exhaustion, and you wish you could shut your eyes and stretch this moment for an eternity. To remain in the setting eye of the sun, softly breathing as you hear the gentle beating of his heart. To have his hand lazily draped over your waist, the other caressing your head, fingers softly entangled with your locks. Your tears have dried, too. Yes, you’d like to live in this singular moment, divorced from everything else.

But as you’ve learned during your time with Aventurine, time is a rapid to move with.

You shiver a bit, and he pulls up a thin blanket. The difference is small. But still, the serenity of the moment is shattered. The soft silk is meant to cage you in for whatever happens next. You don’t mind, anymore. Or, when you’re more lucid, when you let the torrent that is your mind flow, that’s what you decide.

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t ever be forced to trek away from your home. Wouldn’t grab the attention of anyone smart and shrewd (though you did hear about one ‘Dr. Ratio,’ committed to remedies of ignorance). Even if you somehow did and ended up where you were, maybe your mind would be filled with cotton rather than thoughts. That you could enjoy everything all the time. 

But you’re not stupid, nor are you a genius who could hope to outwit the man who holds the aventurine of stratagem. Knowing how normal you are compared to him only makes you more hopeless, so you do your best to fill your mind with cotton again. You feel your inner voice berate you for your willing ignorance but it also cries at its necessity. 

Cotton. You needed to fill your head with cotton, because if you didn’t in time (and that time was short when you were with Aventurine) you might just sob again then and there. You think too much. So you won’t think. At least around him. Because…you still don’t want to acknowledge it in your mind. You protect yourself from the brunt of it and effectively live a lie.

“You’re clenching your jaw,” Aventurine’s voice possesses a perpetual drawl, but in moments like this it softens a little. Almost like he’s talking to a person and not something to use, “Just what could it be you’re thinking about?” 

Could you even be called a thinking creature right now? Cotton absorbs color, and right now the sun, so big it could engulf you, is so beautiful. You tell him the truth. “The sunset’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful. A lot more beautiful than the others.”

He hums. He knows you’re not lying, but you haven’t answered his question. “You’ve made your affinity for the sight quite clear,” he says, and you only notice that odd edge in his voice from your sheer exposure to this man. Whatever Aventurine has against this sight, you’re not sure. He seems to like sunrises, though, if you can trust the times you’ve woken up and see him watching it. And whenever there is no sun, you wake up to him gone or kissing you awake. Though lately, you’ve been steadily receding from your habit of oversleeping. The hand in your hair tightens, and there’s a small tug, firm but not painful, at your roots. He still wants his answer.

Your mind, chosen to be wrecked with cotton, doesn’t know what to think. You say the only other thing in your absent mind. “This one looks like your eyes.” 

You think he likes that because you feel him shift to look at it. You can’t see his face, but you assume he’s taken off his usual smile. Smiling all the time sounded torturous, and you rub your cheek at the phantom pain of your own imagination. 

“Hmm…” and you feel him shift again, and you really have no idea what he wants. From the intonation, he’s about to do something either mischievous or ‘flirtatious.’ “You know, sweetheart,” that word is heavy on his tongue. He shifts, dropping you on the bed and if this were earlier in your relationship you’d fantasize about ripping his throat for robbing you of the sunset. His hair is messed up, his smile soft but still unreadable. The sun shines on the mark on his neck, and something about the sight makes you a bit…happy. And angry. He takes your face in his hands and locks your eyes and you tense a bit out of instinct—you make a note to yourself to do more work on hammering it away—Aventurine’s full attention on you was intense and overwhelming; the bit of dried blood on his lips is proof of it. Your heart feels like it will burst. From apprehension or anticipation, you’re not sure. “If that’s the case,” one of his hands trails down your jaw, the ghost of his touch fluttering against the marks he’s painted on your neck. He’d have no issue finding more all around your body. He softly, lovingly holds your neck like he’s prepared to snap it and equally prepared to drown you in his affection, “Why not take in the real thing, hm?” His thumb finds and lightly presses on a mark. He drew blood when making it, and you blink back a wince at the pain. He notices, eyes softening before moving his thumb and kissing the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s said the same way a cat licks a mouse’s carcass. An empty apology made after the fact. But you don’t mind. You’ve made sure you don’t mind a lot of things, and it’s made you equally content and miserable. Though, maybe you hold onto that latter feeling in stubborn defiance, because losing that shred of yourself would turn you into something that You wouldn’t necessarily hate if it were anyone else, but it’s You becoming that; and that, that, You hate.

You hum because you do enjoy being close like this. But Aventurine is perceptive, and though his head is below you, you feel as if you’ve been chained up when you once again lock eyes. “I can hear your thoughts, darling,” He returns to his former position, “I hate seeing you all stressed out,” he says, as if his veins weren’t running with anticipation when you were saddled with debt and when your parents got hit with unfortunate ‘accidents’ that insurance couldn’t cover and he didn’t love the day you became his. “Didn’t you say that open and honest communication was important in a healthy relationship? I’m rather fond of our little romance, and I’d hate for it to crumble.” He nearly pouts—doesn’t surprise you much anymore, but there’ll always be a little bit of whiplash that doesn’t quite go away. Though, You feel a slight hint of bitterness—crumble? Some cotton burns away. Did he mean that for himself? …Or might it have been a vague threat to you…? You think, but you’re quick to fill your head back up with cotton. The process isn’t immediate, however.

“Our relationship is the furthest thing from healthy,” you point out. You don’t add in that you never sought out romance in the first place, “and it hasn’t exactly been built on a sturdy foundation.”

“You’ve got me there,” He chuckles. “Well, let’s put it like this,” he brushes a lock of hair from your face, “I see that my lover’s been saddled with all these thoughts, and it’s gotten them so awfully quiet,” Lover? No, that’s hyperbole. He tucks his fingers underneath your chin, stroking the soft, unmarked skin; the only area spared from his assault. “Makes a guy worry, you know? The last time you were this quiet was when you first moved in.” 

Yes. It was mostly because You spent the majority of your free time sobbing, leaving your voice all but spent by the time he got back. And it wasn’t like you could be the goofy and sometimes witty and sometimes not buffoonish person You were when You were so miserable. When you wanted to do everything you could to retreat into your own skin—but Aventurine simply ripped you out, exposed, bloody, and sniffling. After that thought, the cotton has completely grown back.

“…And…?” Through the cotton, you can only wonder what he’s talking about.

His smile becomes sharper, and you wonder if he might feel insulted. Does he think you want to leave him, see him get what he deserved and some actual help like You used to? “C’mon don’t you…” you blink a little vacantly, and he seems to realize something. “Or, maybe you’re…” but his voice suggests something knowing. Suggests experience. And the gears in his mind click. “Oh, I know that look!” He laughs, delightedly or derangedly, you don’t bother to differentiate. Either way it makes you shiver. 

“Huh? What look?” You asked, filtered through cotton. He doesn’t answer and cuts to the chase.

He playfully flicks your forehead, and you imagine a bullet going through it, “Riddle me this: what do you want, sweetheart?”

You blink. What do you want? When you first got here, it was security and his or your death. After some time had passed, it was peace. But now…you want whatever storm that’s inside of you to stop. But he doesn’t need to know what you want deep in your soul. So you tell him the truth, filtered through cotton. 

You do something that would’ve been unthinkable to You, and worse, it’s subconsciously without a second thought. You push him down on the bed by laying on him—flopping on him like a fish, You think, for your mind is such a silly little thing—lay your head over his heart, and take in the sunset. The sun’s nearly below the ground. “…If it’s fine, and only if you want…” you ask, because You detest the idea of being controlling, “I’d like you to…” you flush, “…h-hold me, um, like you are right now, until the sun’s down and, um…” your heart is going to burst and there’ll be a hole of viscera through your chest and maybe Aventurine will admire your pathetic, desperate corpse before burning it, “we can take a bath. And,” you look up at him, “I’ll look into your eyes, as much as you want…” You tell yourself its because you need to appease him, and easy on the eyes to boot. But you know of the primal thing that lives in your chest. 

It’s true. But Aventurine puts it perfectly.

His smile speaks of years of clawing his way up with honeyed words and masked expressions. “You’re not lying. Thank you. That’s such a sweet wish,” he says kindly (you’re no longer scared of his kind voice), stroking your head like you are an obedient dog, one that he adores and veers on despising, and then wraps his other arm beneath your thighs, “but you know I’d like the truth.” He then says, primally, ready to carve out a space in your body to inhabit, “To know what storm’s brewing in that little head of yours,” he takes in a shuddering breath, and his eyes light with perverse excitement, “if it’s begun to…crack and burn up.” He sits up and carries you away. You’re slightly disappointed you won’t be seeing the sunset in its entirety, but you’ve gotten good at forgetting. Aventurine sighs wistfully. “But…” he grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him, “I don’t mind that second proposition of yours,” his voice is husky, and he kisses you. You flush, and the cotton is the only thing that prevents you from tearing into him with your canines.

As the sun moves further and further away, You think yourself a fool for thinking it would engulf you. Aventurine wouldn’t leave anything left of you, whenever he decided he was done with you.

—

This is your only choice, and it was everything you could do to not shut down the instant you realized. 

You were in denial, at first. It was all just a coincidence, right? You’d always feared this sort of thing—financial struggle—and so getting hit with it should be something you take in stride, and come out of it either in a wreck or just barely getting by. And, if you wanted to get a little nerdy, capitalist economies have to crash into recession eventually, so maybe now was just that time of the era. No place was hiring you, and your parents were getting buried in bills they couldn’t pay. 

But, if anyone with half a brain took a step back, they’d call out the bullshit excuse you concocted in your mind, to deny the ridiculous truth. Because whatever recession was happening, it seemed to only affect you. The truth that you, you, were the apple of someone’s eye (for lack of a better term—you aren’t delusional—you’re just as disposable as the next person, as much as you wish for the universe to cease operating like it). 

Preposterous! Scandalous! You, a complete idiot, catching someone’s fancy? How the fuck did that happen?! Were pigs flying now? …You take that back, there are indeed flying species of the hog persuasion gallivanting about. But this does not detract from your point. One might say “bimbo vibes,” but you know for a fact, even taking into account your own bias and self-perpetuation of your self-esteem issues (which makes you still having them even worse, but you’ve already gone down that spiral more than you could count), that you do not have anywhere near enough bimbo energy to attract anyone with that kink. Or the looks. This was your knee-jerk reaction to when this crossed your mind. And to an extent, still is, because thinking about it like that gives the situation a bit of levity you desperately need. You can’t wrap your head around it in the slightest. But you can’t dispute fact. And the fact is that you are wanted by someone else, and you can’t even begin to understand why. Least of all the person who wants you.

The man who hides behind the name ‘Aventurine.’ That fact alone already makes you not want to be so closely associated, and it makes everything more insane and stupid. An IPC executive has no use for you. If he wants to extort you for unpaid or cheap labor, he’s already got a vast selection of underpaid grunts to do his bidding. If there’s one thing the IPC knows how to do, it’s keeping those desperate enough or arrogant enough trapped. You’re not either of those things; though you admit you’ve adapted the former trait in light of recent bullshittery, but you digress. 

Most of what you come up with is met with an easy counter. Aventurine, a sleazy businessman obsessed with sex? He has money—he can just hire someone actually knowledgeable in it AND hot. Aventurine, a man with insatiable greed? Again, he’s already rich as fuck, and the only way he’s getting any more money is if he looks up the pecking order. Aventurine, a gambler who loved seeing his opponents fall into ruin? That was actually plausible to some extent, but you’ve made it very clear you’re no gambler (not in tangible matters at least, but you keep your card close to your heart). Then maybe he wants to try and push you over the edge? Try to make you take a risk bigger than yourself? 

So, you’ve settled for this: Aventurine, a man who cannot stand to be sober from the drink called “power.” Desiring complete domination over someone. A personal matter, and briefly you hear the echo of a quote: “We desire that which we do not have.” What doesn’t Aventurine have? 

…A relationship? Well, you shoot that down easily. Whatever kind of relationship this leads to ends with you ruined and him hunting after his next prey. 

He’s a bit like a serial killer, you muse, and you just so happen to meet his criteria for victimhood. But unlike a killer, he’s merely going to make you wish you were dead. If you wanted death, it’d have to be at your own hands. If he gave you that option at all. Another thought you have is that he might use you for snuff. That’s…you haven’t pursued the thought any further.

You’ve been robbed of much of your control, but you still control the hand that knocks at the door. If you’re going down, it’ll be on your own terms. This is your last, desperate attempt to pretend you have any control at all. You make sure your bangs cover your eyes. 

You just wish your heart didn’t feel like it would explode. You wish that you weren’t actively holding back going on a complete breakdown. You wish you were made of the same steel heroes were, but you cannot be what you are doomed to not be. 

Aventurine opens the door, giving you a grin that makes you retch. He’s still dressed in his usual peacock-esque finery, and something about it makes you frown. Maybe it’s because he’s dressed in the colors you love, and it feels so wrong for something that wants to destroy you to be clad in them. “Sweetheart!” he coos out the wretched (and cringe-worthy) pet name with faux surprise; it propels you to roll your eyes even now. He knew you were coming; otherwise, you’d be detained by hotel staff. It didn’t quite help that you didn’t really bother to dress up either. It made you stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re glad that this is the only time you’ll be at a gaudy hotel. “You’ve come to visit little ol’ me! I’m charmed.  Aren’t I a lucky man?” 

You fantasize about his guts strewn about on the floor, accompanied by your maniacal laughter and sobs of elated despair. “...You could say that, Mr. Aventurine,” you aren’t foolish enough to be curt, so you settle for polite and cordial. Professional and businesslike, and you know that gives him a slight advantage. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you. I think that’s best accomplished behind closed doors.” 

He clicks his tongue playfully. “No need to be so cold. We’re friends here, aren’t we?” 

“I suggest you drop the ‘sweetheart,’ then. Friends don’t call each other that, Mr. Aventurine.” 

He raises his hand in mock surrender, and you want him to get to the fucking point before you lost your nerve. “Oh, fine. Then,” he gestures to the lion’s den. If only he were the gentleman he was pretending to be, “Walk on in, darling.” You cannot suppress the groan that comes out of you. His smile widens; you're sure he gets some kick at riling you up.

You don’t have the energy to deal with him, and you certainly don’t have enough to suppress the sigh of irritation you let out. He seems to look like…some sort of positive emotion that you don’t know what to name. You’re not sure if you want to name it.  

The sunlight catches his predatory yet enrapturing eyes. His eye twitches, clearly trying not to shut. Maybe, you muse, the sun hates him as much as you do. It brings a weak smile to your face. You make sure to take your sweet time to enter. You won’t take off your shoes, either. He can deal with a bit of tracked dirt, you think, but then you remember that he’s wearing his shoes. And you thought he was monstrous enough.

But when the door shuts, any semblance of levity you could summon dissipates, and you’re reminded of what you’re here to do. Aventurine’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, and you want to rip it off and feed it to the birds. Thankfully, he just leads you to the living room. The sun is cast overhead. 

“So,” he circles till he’s in front of you, “What could be so important that you’ve come to see me this time of day?” He’s playing with his food. It makes you abandon courtesy for curtness. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t cancel some business meeting to make this happen.”

“Oh! You’ve got me!” he chuckles, “My, you’ve already gotten to know me so well. Don’t you think we’re like two peas in a pod?” He teases, and you know he specifically means for it to piss you off. To his credit, it works.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you spit, and his hand lets you back away from him. “I was thinking about…” you take a breath—you can’t lose your nerve now, “...the ‘deal,’ you gave me a little while ago. The gamble, to be more precise.”

His smile stretches so wide it seems to crack his face, and you feel phantom pain radiating along your own mouth. His eyes, those alluring and dangerous rims of pink and electric blue, spiked with adrenaline. You wonder if his eyes are dilating, but you don’t want to look at his eyes any longer than you have to. “I knew you would come around. But I see it in your eyes—you want to discuss the terms, right?” 

He’s right. “Yes.” 

“Admirable,” he says lazily, “but before you start, you should know that I’m not budging on my reward.”

“I know,” you bitterly say, “this is about my reward.”

Interest ignites, the blue of his eye burning hot with intrigue.

“If I win, then I want you to reimburse my family, and then some, for all of the shit you’re making them go through. And then I want you to leave them the hell alone and not harm them.”

You can’t tell if he looks more interested or disappointed. “That’s hardly different from our original deal. The only difference is that you’re not getting any compensation.” At least he doesn’t deny that he’s the one the source of your family woes this time. Likely because you two already jumped through that point. You may not be sharp, but there are things even you can’t be gaslit on, and you think Aventurine realized this and decided not to bother. “Do you really hate the idea of getting money from me? You do remember that I told you that you can use me however you want, right?”

You hate how he wants to use you, and you equally hate using anybody. “Yes. You made that very clear. I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.”

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll have to modify my will so—”

“No need. Get the gun already.” You aren’t too worried anyway. Businessmen like him know to honor their deals anyway. He’ll probably dismiss it easily and assume you’ll either donate it to charity or give it to your family.

He laughs, not so dissimilar from nails digging into a chalkboard, “You’re that eager to kill me? And you were so against it too! I wouldn’t have expected your morals to shift so quickly.”

You bite your lip. “You don’t seem to be all too worried about dying,” you point out, “You were the one who proposed this in the first place.” Another reason you don’t want to associate with this man. He treats his own life far too callously, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that the package to unpack is bursting at the seams. Normally you would’ve been sympathetic, but this is the manner of man that wants to seize you. You don’t want to know what would happen to you, under his dominion. 

Still, at least you know that he prizes adrenaline above all else. Why else would he risk his life for a hit of it? It’s useful info and also the only wrinkle in your plan…but you’re not banking on this entirely.

Aventurine doesn’t respond, but his eyes accentuate his mirthful grin. It reminds you of yourself, when you tell a joke to yourself. You do like inside jokes, but you cannot say the same for the ones you’re left out of. No matter how demented this man’s humor is, knowing what he finds funny would at least give you more to glean on him. A part of you does enjoy piecing together puzzles, even ones you can’t solve.

He produces a simple revolver from his jacket. Sleek and as dark as a moonless night, even you can tell that its craftsmanship is more than deserving of admiration. But your anxiety has spiked, and you want to dig a hole and suffocate, to feel your lungs burn like lava and to have your fingers raw when you have second thoughts and desperately try to claw your way out. You blink back tears, but you know what you must do.

He takes his sweet time with the gun, but you don’t pay attention. Your eyes are trained on the ground as you try and fail to psych yourself up. You know what you're doing. Your parents would tell you this was a bad choice, and you agree, but you weren’t given very many good choices.

A shot rings out. Glass shatters from behind you. The coffee table. You do not breathe, and something searing and hard digs into your chin, forcing you to look up. Your gaze is misty from the pain, and you’re more resilient to the cold, not the heat. 

“Sweetheart,” he smiles kindly, “I don’t like being ignored.” Despite your best efforts, a tear has rolled down your cheek. You need to get this over with before your mouth starts to uncontrollably twitch into a frown. “Aw…” he coos, and begins to lean in, “there’s no need to cry, dear.” 

You can’t stop it. You let out something that sounds like a growl, and shove him off of you. “You don’t get to touch me,” you hiss, a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, “Hands to yourself,” For some indiscernible reason, another tear falls, “you haven’t won anything yet.”

He’s not fazed. “Ah, I suppose I’ll have to concede there,” for now, “Here you go then, friend,” the gun is lodged away from your chin, and despite his claim of concession he yanks your arm up and forces it in your grip, “Let’s see who luck favors.”

You shake, a little, but you’re not shaken enough to lose all your rationality. “Is there still a bullet in here?” 

“Yep,” he pops the p, like you two were old pals, “though I suppose I should roll the chamber again. Give me a second.” He takes the gun away and gets to work. You’re both thankful and sobbing on the inside. At this rate, your ribs will be dust from how your heart hammers into them.

It’s back in your hand after what feels like an eternity and a microsecond. “Now there shouldn’t be any problems. Feel free to start shooting,” he purrs, adjusting it to point toward his chest. He begins to grip it, and you must act now. You’re shaking and you want to die—

Ah. 

Good. 

You won’t lose your nerve then. 

“Actually,” your words shake with imminent tears and ramping fears, “there’s another term I wanted to discuss.” Your words aren’t threatening, but it’s ominous enough that Aventurine pauses. He’s given you the inch, and you’re taking the mile. You take a deep breath. It could be one of your last.

You’ve forced the gun against your forehead. You’ve either gasped or Aventurine’s breath has hitched. You feel tears welling up, but you’ve made it too far for things to end here. You will yourself through your terror. “If I get shot, I win. If I don’t, you win.”

A tense silence whistles about. The air is almost electric from shock. But you know what you’re doing. You know it’s stupid, but you’re hopeless and this is the closest thing to a shred of hope you can grasp. See, you did a bit of research. You found out that there are a few stories about Aventurine doing this (on a library computer; you weren’t taking your chances)—and even more about how he’s made numerous casino goers lose everything. In other words, he’s a lucky bitch. 

And you’re not that lucky. You doubt your luck is good enough for a regular gamble, but for your life? You treasure it, and sealing the gun to your head leaves you on the cusp of a breakdown. This is what you’re banking on: you’re not lucky enough to win a gamble, but you’re unfortunate enough to lose your life over something so inconsequential. Your parents would murder you if they saw you. Say you owe them nothing, and you do agree—but you can’t shake your habit of overpaying them. You’ve left a note at home for them to dig up, but it wouldn’t be an apology. If there’s an afterlife, you’ll apologize for eternity. You think the only way you can apologize is by searing your soul in the hells till nothing is left of you. 

You do have a more selfish reason for taking this approach, but it’s also incorrigible and unreasonable. So obviously that it doesn’t need to be dissected. 

You think he’ll take it up. Sure, maybe the adrenaline he’ll get won’t be as great if he were the target, but so far he’s been the type to take pleasure in pushing others down a peg. He smiles at your distress, you’re sure. Surely your quivering, sniveling form is giving him a kick? Surely, he’ll want to see your eyes glassy, your expression forever contorted in a fearful, desperate sob?

But Aventurine’s voice is missing its usual lilt. It’s hard, no longer deceptively light. Not playfully pushy but demanding. Maybe this is how he speaks to his enemies, and you want to crawl into yourself. “…What?” A shard of ice is lodged in your back and makes your heart skip a beat from the surprise. But you can deal with the cold. 

“I said what I said,” you push the terrifying thing harder into your skull, “these are my terms.” You’re more adamant than ever to not look into his eyes. You fixate on your shoes. You won’t speak more than necessary.

He seemingly contemplates for a moment. You’re about to push it when he finally speaks. “Do you remember what I said when I first proposed this gamble?”

Your mind is too fear stricken for recollection. “You say a lot of things. C-can’t remember all of them.” Shit, your mouth has twitched a bit.

Shockingly Aventurine doesn’t poke fun at that, and is unusually focused. “I don’t take deals where I’m on the losing end. You’ve skewed this far too much in your favor.”

No. Oh, no. You were wrong about something. Lava starts to sting at your eyes. If you were wrong about this, then what else were you wrong about?!

“W-what? You’re not the one risking your life!” You exclaim, and it makes you look up at him, “How are you on the losing end?!” You shriek, because you aren’t a composed person at heart.

His eyes, lifeless and intense, widen as they bore into your own, pinning you down. If you squirm, you think he would stab knives in them to keep you down. He isn’t smiling and your knees want to shake. “Let’s go through this one by one, so you understand. One: what do I want?”

“W-wha?”

He repeats himself, harsher. “What. Do. I. Want?”

You settle for the safest answer. Your heart feels dead. You’re sure it will wither to dust. “M-me?” 

“Bingo.” It scares you that he’s not saying that with a lilt. It scares you that he’s not trying to manipulate you. It scares you how there’s only a thread between him ripping you in half. “And here’s something very, very important to know about me,” his hand caresses your cheekbone, positioned to catch any tears that fall, or to crush your skull, “I do whatever it takes to get what I want.”

“Then how is this different?! You’re still taking the risk of not getting what you want no matter how you slice it!”

The smile he gives you is all at once angelic and biting. “I don’t like it when I don’t get what I want.” His pupils dilate. Your eyes well up looking at malice and…something that plunges you in ice. “If I can’t get what I want…hm, how do I describe it?” his voice begins to regain its lilt, fueled by your increasing distress. He smiles like he’s teaching a child a lesson, but you swear his eyes are growing duller. “Well, it’s like being trapped in a land without dawn,” his other hand softly holds your shoulder and it feels so wrong because you swear he’s holding back from brutalizing you, “there are chains around your neck, ankles, wrists, waist, eyes…” he chuckles sardonically, and a vindictive grin spreads as he leans in, till you can feel the ghost of his breath, “your life is a living hell, but the cold of the metal seeps down to your very bone.” You yelp; his grip has tightened. “Something stirs in your chest,” the hand caressing your face comes to rest over your heart, “begging to destroy everything and everyone that’s made you suffer.” His fingers dig into your chest, as if he’ll rip out your heart. “Tell me, my friend, do you want a man like that alive?”

You want to close your eyes so badly. Your mind is an inky landscape, blackening every single thought you hold. A soft flutter to your cheek knocks you out of your stupor. You register expensive perfume, something tickling your skin, and soft lips kissing away your tears. Immediately you shove away the opportunistic beast and stumble in your escape.

You’re in too deep. You need to make this work, because as much as you're terrified, something deep within you purrs at the weakness he’s given you.

But it’s good to know how spiteful he is. You already feel much better about your own plan. Both parts of you purr in delight: one knows you must twist the knife, the other has been waiting for the opportunity.

“Coward,” your mouth is faster than your mind, “you coward!” Your meager wit and anguish over the past few months begins to tumble out uncontrollably, “I don’t care about your shit—you’ve hardly given me any say about anything. You’ve had the upper hand this entire time, and now you want to backpedal? This is too much risk for you?!” You heave, and you’re too enraged to care about how disgusting you must look, “You said to me there’s nothing you like more than a good gamble. Well, I’ve got a GREAT gamble for you, and if you’re upset you’ve got no one but yourself to blame! You wormed your way into my life, you orchestrated its steady decline, and you pushed me right here! You don’t get to back out of this like a coward!” You’re breathing heavily, and your vision is watery red, and you throw the gun in the what you think is his general direction, and your vitriol spills out of you, “Take it and take whatever fucking risk exists! Languish for a month or a day or an hour because you didn’t get what you want like a little baby! If I’m going down, you’re coming down with me!” You’re heaving at this point, and you absently lean on the couch so you don’t collapse. Your composure is in shambles, but you’ll try to save a complete breakdown for when your choices catch up to you and you’re choking on your own blood. 

You hear a slow, rhythmic clap, and it shocks you that your ears aren’t flooding with blood at it. You hesitantly look up to see Aventurine grinning like a beast. 

“You, dragging me down…” the lilt has come back, and you realize that he likes something about this; that he’s schemed a part of it, “...so I see.” He drawls. He tilts his head, regarding you with the interest one has in a zoo. “I’ll admit,” each slow step he takes toward you makes you sink further into the couch, “I was expecting you to cave with that. Yet you still insist…sweetheart,” should you be glad he’s calling you that again? “Let me be the first to tell you that it’s a great honor to push people like you into a corner. You were correct to fear me to try and avoid this.” So you were right on one thing, but it’s only a single thing. He’s inching ever so closely, and before you can start getting away he’s pounced on you. You yelp in surprise and begin to thrash, “You—get, get off of me!” You attempt to be intimidating, but your intense terror makes you seem like nothing more than a child scared to get a shot. Perfume burns your nostrils. More tears are shed, but he’s merciful enough to not lap them up just yet. He still lets you look away.

He giggles and just pins you down. He waits until you're humiliated and exhausted before continuing. Your mouth twitches, and against your better judgment a sob brews in your chest. Your mind floods with ink, now. You try to tell yourself to keep it together, but the more you repeat it the more terrified you become. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d change the terms like this,” you squirm and look away—you don’t have the bravery to look at him directly right now. He lets you. “I was sort of expecting you to try and stand up for yourself, or maybe even demand I put in two bullets…but, you’ve run counter to my expectations. For one, I didn’t have you pinned to be this spiteful, nor this willing to give up your life.” You flinch and make a hateful sound as he starts to pat your head, continuing on as if this was the most normal conversation in the world, like he was the most normal person in the room, as he smiles so warmly—you’re a frog being boiled, but you’re too tired and afraid to retort, “Heh, this must’ve taken all of your guts to do, right?” The affection in his voice forms a lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you. Take pride in that,” he wipes away a tear, “and you’re right.” Suddenly, all warmness is gone and you’re blasted with heat. His grin shows his teeth, and for a moment you think you’ve really died. “I’ve always loved the thrill of going all in.” He laughs, a depraved sound of hedonism and complete despair, “If I win, it’s the jackpot. I get you, and you get me.” Get him? “And if I lose,” your head is tipped up by the barrel of the gun to look into his eyes—

You whimper. The only thing that registers in your mind is that you’ve found yourself in a fox’s jaw about ready to clamp down.

“I live with my loss at the hands of a nobody. And it’ll gnaw at me from the inside…” he says breathlessly, “Yes, that’s a risk I can see myself getting behind,” Ink has made your soul quiver further. “And only taking deals on the winning end…I do that enough for business. That's to say…” he suddenly pulls you up, causing you to stumble and lean into him. He chuckles as your addled mind and body reorients, but the arm slung around your waist prevents you from straying too far. It’s the pillar you must rely on, but one wrong step and it will crumble to dust.

It scares you. 

But.

There’s another side to your fear. What sort of things do we fear? These months have taught you that people hate that which they fear. When the fear amps up, so does the hate. You aren’t blind to how he looks at you. He’d vivisect you if it got him what he wanted. Your teeth grind. Oh, you hate him, you hate him so much. But your hate doesn’t burn, nor does it freeze. It’s a part of you, hums through your veins, thrums with the beat of your heart. There is nothing special about what is merely a fact of life. You are its vessel, and for that it sustains you.

You won’t see the fallout of your victory, but the mere idea sends a wave of ecstasy through you. 

The barrel of the revolver presses against your heart. 

“I accept your terms.” His voice edges with adrenaline and delight, but, and rather exquisitely, your instincts think, an edge that he must be the one to win this gamble—that in this moment, for him to live with loss is completely undesirable. But unfortunately for him, you’re not lucky enough to avoid a stupid death. You quiver, but not with fear. Though a part of you wonders if he’s just been testing you with his easy agreement. Should you be glad if you get full marks? Or should you hope you’ve failed?

Still, a brief feeling of levity blooms in your chest, and you seize it immediately. 

You did it. And unexpectedly, rather than further terror, relief washes over the heat and ink, because now that you’ve felt dead so often in such short time, death is salvation. But just as quickly as the water came, a blizzard freezes the sea. 

Click. His lips are against yours. 

Of course. He wouldn’t let your final moments be pleasant. 

He takes advantage of your inexperience to entangle your tongues, and his hand pushes you deeper and deeper as he tries to devour you. You gasp and tear up when he bites and bruises your lips. You’d like to fight back, but you want to get this over with. Even if it means being taken advantage of in your last moments, mother death’s repentance is merely a chamber or two away.

But still, no matter how demented you are in the moment, you are human, and the instinctual desire to survive makes you recoil.  The eye contact exacerbates it. His eyes hold a sea. On the surface, you can freely see the coral and starfish, difficult to understand but beautiful. But deeper, where the sunlight does not shine, the predators have taken to hunting one another, having wiped out the prey. And when only one is left, then it can only move up and up, until it’s the only thing left standing. And now it looks to consume you to satiate its unending appetite. Your lungs burn. 

You’d love to shut your eyes, but doing so feels like losing. At least when you do so, you can see yourself be devoured. Your awareness of yourself is the only agency you have right now. 

Click. He pulls away, and you take in a greedy breath. Your heart beats and a tear trickles; you’re not dead yet. That’s ok. You’ll be dead in a moment. 

“You look so certin you’ll win,” he observes, “it’s a good look on you.” 

You scrunch your nose. “Pull the trigger. I’m getting sick of looking at you.” 

“But, if I do, then you might breathe your last,” his eyes narrow, though you’re not sure if it’s predatory or softening, “can’t I take the sight of you in?” 

“Ha!” You cough it out. “For a man who dresses to the nines, you sure have bad taste.” 

“Aw, don’t demean yourself like that,” he mockingly reassures, “I’ll have you know you’re perfectly enchanting.” 

You decide to play along, because banter is banter and no matter how spiteful you are, you’ll take comfort and levity where you can find it. “And you’re a Knight of Beauty.” Absently, you wonder how terrible you must look. You feel your eyes still well with tears, and you’ve sniffling back bits of snot every now and then. 

You’re not sure if everything’s just catching up to you, or if the thought has propelled you to the realization, but you’re so, so, so tired. It does make your tears dry, a little, and your muscles relax. 

You see he’s starting to lean in again, and you immediately put a hand between you and his lips. “Don’t.” You growl. “Just…just shoot,” you sigh in exhaustion, “I’m tired. Just shoot. If you’re not satisfied, then you’ll have my corpse.” The implication is disgusting but he’s disgusting, and you really just want to sleep. You’re pretty sure he would’ve done it even without you saying. 

“Can’t say the image is pleasant.” Is his voice colder? Or are you finally losing it? 

“I’m already a teary mess. It’ll just be colder and a little stiff.”

He scoffs, “If I wanted someone steely, you wouldn’t be here.” 

You bite your cheek and look at your feet. “Shoot.” 

There’s a pause in the air. You wonder if he’s contemplating on saying something to you, or just getting it over with. Both would make sense. You close your eyes. You will yourself to not think, because you know if you do that your life will just flash before your eyes. And if that happens, you’ll die completely miserable.

Click. 

You’re breathing. His hand is on your waist. The gun’s pressed to your chest. Nothing’s changed. Why aren’t you on the ground choking on blood? 

“I win.” You hear. You shut your eyes when sunlight gets into them.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You’re still here. 

It didn’t work. It didn’t pay off. Your knees give out as you finally are no longer to keep your tears at bay. You feel fluttering around your eyes, and you dare not open them. Shhh, shhh, you hear, but you only cry more. Everything has come to impale you, and you cry as you feel your organs spill. You’re his. You’re his. You want to die. Everything is coated in ink. You process nothing but the terror and rage and fear and despair and laughter and anything and everything you’ve ever experienced. You try to curl in on yourself, but you’re stopped. 

“Shhh, it’s alright…” a hand strokes you to soothe, but it’s more akin to sandpaper rubbing on raw skin, “Let it all out…we have plenty of time. I don’t have to hold back and neither do you.” 

You heave and sob. All you can think about is the unknown future which awaits you. You barely register being placed on a plush surface.

When your sobs finally quiet, you’re forced to look into his eyes. There’s a flush on his cheek, a slight inconsistency in his breathing, and his eyes have dilated with adrenaline and…and…you’ve never seen that emotion before, whatever it is. 

You wonder what face you’re making, as he smiles ferally. “You were right. That was great,” he hisses with elation, and laughs. “Oh, you’re beautiful.” 

The world spins. You’re laying, and he’s on top of you. 

Oh…oh no…You begin to flinch and twitch uncontrollably. You aren’t thinking. You flail, kick, cry, but he doesn’t budge. You need to get away get away get away get away—

“One last thing, to really seal the deal,” he smiles in that insidiously kind and horrifying way, “to commemorate my victory and your defeat.” 

He bites into your neck, and you scream. 

The fox swallows you whole.

—

He lets you roam freely, whenever he’s gone. To say you were baffled about it was putting it lightly, and you refrained from taking advantage of it in fear he had something up his sleeve. In fact, when you found out his spaceship-apartment-thing was mounted with surveillance in every nook and cranny, you found a cramped closet to hide in for a few days. Curling into a ball all day wasn’t easy on the joints, but you were taking any semblance of privacy you could get. But Aventurine, petty and cruel, forced you to seal off your haven with your own hands before he tore into you. If he wants you in his sight or roaming about, he should just make up his mind already.

But, for this one occasion, you choose to abuse this privilege. You usually come back around the same time he does to appease him, but you finally decided you needed a vacation after he forced you into one of his stupid gambles and forced you to fulfill another of his especially perverted fantasies; on top of forcing you to help him get acquainted with a gacha you played—and then caused your cake to burn. Sure, there are those big moments where lava and ink converge, but it’s the little things which sting and nick that pile up. The real kicker was when he forced you two to share a plate of pasta and when, of course, you two landed on the same noodle, he had the brilliant idea to suck it up at the speed of light so you guys could kiss. How romantic, kissing someone with half chewed food in their mouth, you truly could not commend this man’s genius enough. You couldn’t keep up, which was how you ended up with pasta sauce in your eye. And there were pepperoncinis in there.

Yeah, you’re no fan of how he fucks you mentally and literally. You gladly made this choice, and all the risk it came with.

“So, this is where you’ve been.” You think he’s still a little surprised, just as you are. You haven’t done much in the way of defiance, both because you wanted nothing more than to remain within yourself, and because you feared his retaliation. The few risks you have taken never pay off. And you didn’t even go to see your parents. You tried to tell them the horrible truth and because they deserved to know their child’s fate, but everytime you approached their house, something stopped you. Shame, fear, embarrassment, sheepishness…you don’t know. You almost laughed. To think, a quarter of why you’re here is because of the danger they were placed in, yet you can’t even muster the courage to talk to them. You dismiss them from your mind, because you have to deal with Aventurine. You wonder if you’ll forget them, if you cast them out of your mind enough. “I’m charmed. Our special place.” 

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. This was mine before you ever came here, and it still is.” 

You met each other here on a moonlit night. You couldn’t see each others’ faces, but it didn’t stop you from conversing. You don’t bother to think about it more, because what started as a memory that made you feel warm now enshrouds you in a volcanic blizzard. You’ve already mulled over it plenty anyway—on how such a mundane conversation started all of…this. 

Now, the sun is setting. It calms you down.

“Darling, this is a national park. You don’t own it.”

You tsk. “Shut up. I don’t feel like dealing with you right now. And you literally called this place ‘ours,’ you conniving bastard.” 

“Unfortunate,” his arm slings across your shoulders, “because it’s been such a lonely week without you…” another cages you by the waist. You imagine his body rupturing and exploding, and you’d dance in the blood shower. Or would you soak yourself in his organs, to savor his defeat? Maybe you’d open your mouth, let your mouth and throat be coated in his blood so you— 

Huh. Something’s off again. You are no stranger to violent thoughts, but lately, at rare times, your fantasies get accompanied by something strange you can’t quite put your finger on.

You make a face, as you look at him over your shoulder with a deadpan glare, “And you’ve let me parade about.”

He giggles. “What? I had no clue you were here till a few hours ago! Honest.”

“Says the surveillance freak.” You wave your phone, “And I’ve so conveniently kept this tracker with me.”

He drops the act. “You didn’t even try to cover up your tracks.” He sighs, “I must say, your defeatism is probably my least favorite part about you. Can’t say I really understand.”

Then why does he still keep you around? It’s already been nearly half a year.

“You and I have no illusions that I can escape you, and I lost a bet. I try not to be a sore loser.” 

“And yet you so often cry when you lose our games. Kick and scream sometimes.”

Your chest feels hollow, and you hate the feeling so much that you want to die right then and there. “What, should I be jumping for joy when you rape me?” 

Silence. You can almost think he’s a little remorseful. But then his fingers are snaking to pull at your collar. Peeling back your skin, to try and coax you out of it. More like tear you out, you scoff.

“Seriously?” Your voice carries a mix of disappointment, anger, fear, and despair. It cracks, “Hardly three minutes and right after I—”

“Relax,” he’s so soothing that your muscles tense up and your heart beats to the nines—he’s so good at this! He continues his ministrations until he has a good view of your neck, and hums in pleasure, “you haven’t been that bad.” He brushes a spot at your neck. It’s the spot he first bit you in, and thinking about it still makes you shake in pain. And he’s always sucking or biting at it to stake his stupid claim. You brace yourself. And right on cue he’s latched on, and your scream is muffled by your hand. You’d like to say you’ve gotten used to it, but you’ve never had a good tolerance for pain. And against your wishes, you’ve cried. Aventurine lunges on the opportunity, sensually licking them and leaving behind a disgusting trail of slime to dry. “You really are a crybaby…” his voice is like crawling spiders in your ear.

You desperately rub them away with your sleeves, mostly because you know shoving him away doesn’t work when he gets like this. And then your short lived adrenaline fades.

“Shit!” He’s drawn blood. Again. And you liked this shirt! But you can see why he doesn’t—it was a high collar and a long sleeve, able to cover the mural of bites and bruises he leaves on your body. He doesn’t want others to see, but in private he can’t keep his hands off.

“Sorry,” he kisses the spot, but each kiss burns you. You don’t understand why he bothers to say the word when you both know he’s not capable of feeling remorse, at least, not for you.

You groan, blinking back mist. “You’re making it worse.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, giving you a bloody peck on the cheek, “but can you blame me? You’re not wearing any of my gifts. Makes a guy a little jealous, see?” He kisses your cheek again, firmer to imprint his bloody kiss.

“Yes, I can blame you for making conscious decisions,” you coldly snap, but you’re already tired, “Once again, jewelry is overrated and I reaffirm that your taste is shit.”

“I recall my jewelry and clothes were some of the first things you complemented.”

“Aye,” it’s true, but you see an opportunity for levity and take it, “but I have since evolved from my follious self.”

He’s getting that feral look in his eye again. Why?! You didn’t even do anything! You snap. “What is it? Spit it.”

“You’re doing it again.” 

You can’t stand his touch any longer. “Doing what?” You hiss, shoving him away from you so you can face him. 

He whistles. It feeds your frustration. You assume that it’s what he usually wants from you. “If this is some weird sexual innuendo then it’s fallen flat on its ass, you affluent horndog.”

He blinks in brief shock, before laughing—his canines shine in the orange sunset, “No, no no, not this time around. Let’s put it this way, and I’ll be very clear, just for you,”

As he calms down, an angelic smile spreads in his face, and you know you’re looking straight at damnation. 

“I’ve learned that defeatists succumb to themselves. Pushing them past their limit helps, but it’s not necessary.”

…In the back of your mind, you make a horrific realization. 

You have tilled fields, so You may eventually sow them with cotton.

—

What does your face look like, right now? But for once, you think it might be bestial. You know your eyes are wide open and not flooding.

In an unexpected subversion, it is you who pins Aventurine to the ground. You don’t pay much mind to his expression: parted lips, breathless, glimmering interest and fulfilled desire in his eyes; it’s unusual and you would’ve drank it in if not for the tornado in your mind. It’s torn through some cotton, leaving the field barely alive.

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” You do not recognize your own voice. You feel your body shaking, and find that you’re breathing heavily. 

He smiles. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” His head tips in faux questioning, “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

You grind your teeth. He hasn’t answered you. “You played Russian Roulette.”

The body of his opponent is slumped on the table across from you two. Their blood continually drips, crying out in defeat. You couldn’t care less about that, because there’s a thought playing on repeat in your mind. 

That could’ve been his body.

His eyes twinkle as he smirks, cruelly teasing you. “Are you jealous? Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?” 

“No.” You’re not being sensible. The cotton in your mind is shredding. You want to balk at the idea, and You want to jump at the opportunity. “Answer my question.”

“Mmm,” he hums, and his nonchalance makes you shake, “well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.”

He’s right. You know just how much pleasure he takes in putting everything on the line. Your question is answered, but for some reason it’s still not satisfied. The few surviving patches of cotton are still in your way.

That depraved feral look in his eyes only grows at your internal battle, and his gloved hand cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?” He goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”

For a moment, cotton has come. But then the scent of blood wafts to your nose, and all of your senses have increased tenfold.

Hell hath flourished, and it burns the cotton to dust.

You begin to unravel. 

“I want to hollow out your chest.” You admit, maddeningly and you wonder how much your insanity bleeds out. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you think your breath has grown more erratic, “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing, on nothing but you!” You’ve leaned closer, your breaths fanning on each others’ faces. Small patches of water begin to drop onto Aventurine’s face—his face that is so breathtakingly and satanically beautiful without the cotton obstructing it—your breath hitches and your mouth twitches, as you take in a quivering breath. “If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” and then something ugly sparks in your chest. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

The puddle of blood begins flowing toward you. 

It completely burns the cotton, and that is the moment You are no longer safe. But hell is beautiful, you find, and you so gladly drench yourself in its flames. You are still painfully aware of how wrong it all is…but, the storm within you is starting to calm, you don’t cry with your every free moment and you no longer agonize about your parents. You…you think this is peace. To harbor obsession for the man who trapped you in this hell and tortured you and then drowned you in affection.

You sob, a sound of euphoric despair, and you confess the terrible truth,

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp, “I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold down as you break down, “I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, “I love you I love you I love you I love you.” You’ve collapsed, curling in on yourself but resting your head atop his heart. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…I need you, and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” Oh, you feel so ugly and you feel so much lighter and, and—

His breath shudders, and then swiftly takes you in his arms. You tell, but his grip doesn’t cease, like he wants your bodies to meld into each other. He sits up, shifting so you’re straddling him. Red dusts his cheeks, a similar shade to the blood continually pooling beneath you two. His eyes hold a hunger satiated and a new voracity, gleaming with animalistic intent that makes you shiver. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders, holding back all he wants to do, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he’s panting, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession?” Your heart soars. “You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart when I’m that dawnless land”

As the dawn shines on you both as he kisses you, it clicks.

He wanted someone just as desperate as him.

The whisper against your lips is almost reverent, “I knew you were the one,” His eyes are like a meadow, where you dance and sing and never leave, even as your feet howl in pain from the poison ivy and oak hidden in the grass and flowers. And now you recognize the emotion that drowns in them. That all consuming affection which threatens to erase your existence to everything but it. “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me. It’s an honor, sweetheart.” 

Your tears flow, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. Insanity has sunk its claws into you, your stress and limits explode in a desperate supernova, and your very being trembles with ecstasy. Aventurine joins you, standing up and spinning you around in his firm hold as you laugh and laugh in the dawn’s sunlight, with red not trailing too far behind, this is a spectacle you burn and freeze and drown in, embraced by your spectator in rot.

You're devoured, but you’ve grown your own claws and fangs.

Driven by nothing more than instinct, in the throes of your tryst, you bury your head in the crook of his neck,

And bite.

Take your pick~

day 46 / 47 i think penacony plaza place is really pretty!! ♥

As always, the Irish speak nothing but facts.

How many more innocent civilians have to be killed by Israel before you condemn that for it?

That is a genocide.

That this is a crime on all accounts.

And deserves to be punished to the full extent off the law.

be my valentine?💝

Jeht – Character Illustration

It's been so long since we last saw each other! Missed me? You haven't forgotten me and Benben, have you?

I heard that it's customary to send gifts during some special holidays, so you were the first person I thought of.

This is a little trinket I made myself... B—But don't open it yet! Maybe wait till you get back?

Al-Haitham x Deaf Fem!Reader

University AU

[Part 1] [Part 2]

[Silence could be overcomed by gentle gestures and shy gazes; but only the strong one can try and reach for a voice that has been lost a long time ago to reach the ears of their beloved.]

— x — x — x — x — x — x — x — x —

You fall in love with Al-Haitham throughout the winter season.

With no concise way of knowing when it started, the great growth of love and timidness when having him around increased the more you two spend time together—but you know the moment where you realized that what you felt for him went deeper than simple friendship. 

The revelation from such an affair surprises you once you go past the confusion and denial from falling in love with a man who keeps his heart locked away and under a mask of nonchalant. The fleeting thought that you were just confused was viable, since you’ve never felt this way prior, and so you tried to convince yourself to drop the subject and to not think about your friend that way anymore.

But when the little veil of deception that you placed upon yourself vanishes, slapping you across the face that yes, you were in love, it takes no time for the butterflies to swarm in your belly whenever you look his way or his name is mentioned through conversations.

To notice the sudden race of your heart when you are alone, when he helps you when you’re unable to focus, to the way he cares for your well-being in subtle yet obvious acts of kindness; all of it was the beginning of your doom.

Because despite forging a friendship throughout the times at the university, in light of recent news of your newfound love, your actions are led with shyness instead of confidence. Your demeanor changes when he is in the vicinity, and you can’t help the assaults your heart does when he looks at you so intensely or simply focuses on your being.

And that places you here in the library.

Al-Haitham is keeping himself busy with his books and Kaveh…

Kaveh acts like he’s none the wiser when you need him as a backup when interacting with Al-Haitham; ignoring your pleading gazes, fixing his shirt when you tug on the fabric, and even biting back a grimace when you squeeze his arm to catch his attention. 

But everytime the bastard simply looks the other way with a pout, pretending that you both don't exist at the moment, and focuses on his papers instead of lending a helping hand.

A little nudge on your shoulder has your attention drifting towards Al-haitham, who raises a brow in questioning.

“What is it?” you sign, fingers trembling slightly. 

“What do you need from him?” he asks. His hand movements are choppy and a bit aggressive, “I can help you.”

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment, fearful that he's witnessed your childish nagging at Kaveh. Shaking your head, you tap the notebook.

“Tomorrow we have a test. I want to make sure he's ready, that's all.”

“Are you sure?”

You give him a thumbs up, smiling, “I'll be okay! I've been tutored by the best student on campus, so I have nothing to fear!”

Al-Haitham seems satisfied with your reply, the shadow of a smile hovers over his lips before he schools his face back to his usual stoic expression and goes back to his book. His eyes skim through the paragraphs and quickly jolts things down he deems important in his own notebook. 

You eye the stack of books he has next to him, two of them open and tossed to the side and the one he currently holds, keeping all his attention.

Idly, you think literature looks difficult; boring, even. 

Reading books is not of your preference, unless romance and tragedy are the main topic, your interest regarding lectures are non-existent so you are easily amazed by his focus and full concentration on what he reads whatever the topic might be.

A vibration catches your attention, watching a notification pop-up in your phone that lays next to you on the table. Picking it up, Kaveh's name shows on the screen with an incomplete message that has you blushing on the spot.

Gingerly, you open the chat.

× Kaveh: You look like a creep staring at him ಠ⁠_⁠ಠ

× Me: I'm not staring! 

× Kaveh: Yeah, sure- Even the librarian has noticed the hearts around you whenever he signs to you.

× Me: Shut up ;_;

Covering half of your face you glare at Kaveh, pouting at his teasing. He only gets to shrug and mouth an apology that’s not genuine with the smirk plastered across his face. 

× Kaveh: :P 

× Me: You are so mean for no reason :( 

× Kaveh: I'm only stating facts. If you want it a secret, then KEEP it like a secret.

× Me: Stop paying attention to what I do! I know how to keep a secret!

× Kaveh: Yeah? Your eyes don't! ╰⁠(⁠ ⁠･⁠ ⁠ᗜ⁠ ⁠･⁠ ⁠)⁠➝

Kaveh is insufferable when he teases, pulling you out of your tasks and bothering you until you give out and have to physically make him shut up.

Since he is in close vicinity, you slap his arm lightly, signing furiously for him to stop annoying you so much and to pay attention to his homework and study.

His eyes roam your hands, trying to piece together what you say but unable to tie the words and hand signs to coherent sentences. Is clear from his confused expression he hasn't gotten half of what you said, and now he wears an apologetic smile that tells you everything.

“She said to stop fooling around, and keep your head in your studies, dunce.” Al-Haitham closes his book, clearly annoyed. “Don't bother her too much, Kaveh. She's got enough on her plate.”

Kaveh gasps, offended, “I'm not bothering her, am I?”

“Lower your voice,” he reprimands, “You are being annoying.”

They go back and forth for a while, and you cannot help but look bewildered between the two of them, confused and intrigued by whatever they're talking about. 

Their mouths move too fast for you to interpret words into sentences, too fired up in their conversation—or argument, this looks like an argument—that they don't notice your curious stare.

Al-Haitham seems to mull over a thought, pondering whether to say what's on his mind or not. It seems to take a toll on him, sighing tiredly and briefly looking in your direction.

“She's clearly trying to study, and as her partner, shouldn't you try and help her out instead of fooling around?” 

Kaveh raises a brow, confused at his choice of words. 

“I’m a very good partner!” Is what he says a little too loudly. The librarian shushes him from across the room, glaring at their table and scowling, a finger on her lips. Kaveh bows his head in apology before continuing in a lower voice, “And I'm very helpful when I want to, thank you very much. You can even ask her, I’m a sweetheart.”

Kaveh notices the shift in attitude from Al-Haitham for a brief second, enough to surprise him when his scowls deepens and avoids eye contact to focus on the books on the table. He’s almost tempted to ask if his actions were what got to his nerves, but with the way he moves, uncomfortable and wary, he decides against it.

It becomes obvious something is going on when he starts packing his things without saying a word, closing the books and stashing them on his backpack slowly but with force behind every action. 

A little taken aback by his sudden urge to leave the library, you stand up from your chair and begin closing your notebooks alongside him in a hurry. 

None of them say anything while watching you pack up, eyes concentrated and precise actions to have your things in order. Kaveh purses his lips in contemplation and eyes Haitham stop dead on his tracks, regret flashing for a brief second on his face, but he doesn’t miss the fondness swimming in his green orbs.

“You don’t have to leave.” His expression softens ever so slightly, and he reaches for your wrist to catch your attention, “Stay.” He mouths slowly.

“Why?”

His eyes divert from you to Kaveh who looks at him with concern filled in his eyes, and he can’t help but sigh, scratching the back of his neck and unable to reason clearly. Taking his hand in yours, you tug slightly, getting his attention back to you.

“Don’t you want us here?” You ask. 

“I have to leave,” he signs, “I forgot I have a study session today.”

Shaking your head, you tap your wrist, “There’s still two hours away from your meeting time.” Al-Haitham doesn’t flinch when your expression sours, “Why are you lying to me?”

“I'm not lying, the session time has moved.”

Liar. And the fact he's doing so right to your face with no shame is worrisome for he's never had a reason to.

Al-Haitham continues packing his things in silence under your scrutinized gaze. When you realize he won't say anything else to you nor Kaveh, you take a seat and watch him leave with a quick goodbye.

You are left staring at the closing doors of the library and with an emptiness at the pit of your stomach. Slowly crawling your insides, anxiety takes over your thoughts in quick succession about his actions and lack of communication with you two. 

Was he upset over something? Did Kaveh say something? Did Al-Haitham say something? Are you at fault here?

You type in your phone before you can think further.

× Me: Did you two argue?

× Kaveh: No! He was scolding me for distracting you when it was the other way around >_> You get way too desperate when he talks to you.

You glare at him from the corner of your eyes, ignoring his last sentence.

× Me: But why did he leave? 

× Kaveh: I don't know, maybe he just got upset over me being too loud? I'll talk to him later when he comes home, don't mind him. He always acts like a drama queen.

× Me: Are you sure? 

Kaveh mulls over your question quietly. 

Al-Haitham is one to never hold a grudge when they argue, but rather take his time to calm down before sitting down and talk like civilized people. And Kaveh would have assumed this was the case if it weren't for the uncommon timing to his reactions, which raises the question: What made him this upset?

× Kaveh: I'll talk to him later, don't worry :) 

× Me: Okay, let me know if you both need anything! I don't like it when you two fight :(

Kaveh clutches the phone close to his heart and squeals loudly, fighting against his instincts to smother you in a big hug for how kind you were to him despite the clear favoritism you had for the one you crushed on.

From afar, you see the librarian standing from her seat, angry lines forming on her expression and marching towards you two with a determination that scares you deeply, freezing you on the spot.

You can't even warn your friend before she reaches him first.

“Kaveh, that's enough! Out of the library until you learn how to keep quiet!”

“What?!” 

“Banned for a week! Out with you!”

— x — x  — x — x — x — x  — x — x — x — x  — x —

Kaveh's expression at having the door of the library close shut on his face shouldn't be this amusing; but here you are, laughing with all your might and holding onto the wall for support because you can't hold back anymore after the last tense couple of minutes.

He's saying something, probably angry words at the ban and you for making fun of him, but you could care less with how much your stomach was hurting from the laughing.

“Stop!” he whines, tugging your sleeves with a pout on his face. “This is not funny!”

Cleaning the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes, you apologize between giggles, fingertips down the bridge of your nose and an open palm running a straight line down your chest.

“You are mean,” he mouths slowly, pulling you alongside him onto the halls of the university to walk away. 

“Sorry,” you sign again, not genuine enough for him to believe you. “I think we both need a break. How about we go for dessert?”

Kaveh blinks down confused, “I understood the break, the last thing I didn’t get.” 

“D. E. S. S. E. R. T,” you spell each letter slowly. He nods in understanding.

“Oh, yes!” He perks up excitedly, “Oh, oh! We can go to that coffee shop you were talking about yesterday. The one a few blocks away, yeah?” 

Happy at the prospect of some sweet dessert and a relaxing afternoon, Kaveh walks with new vigor and a goal in mind with you in tow, forgetting completely about his public humiliation and entertained like a little kid with a treat.

He holds your hand, smiling brightly back at you, and you return the grin with the same feeling of content filling your chest.

But even when you've settled down at the coffee shop; drinking milkshakes and eating cheesecakes between laughs and messaging each other, at the back of your head was the lie of Al-Haitham still present and bothering.

And perhaps it was selfish of you to have him roaming your mind when Kaveh is trying to lift your spirits and cheer you up to the best of his abilities, when it should be the other way round. 

And he notices. When he looks you from the corner of his eyes and his fingers hovers above the keyboard from his phone, you cannot help the embarrassed blush and hesitation whether to bring up the topic or not.

× Kaveh: Okay, I can't do this anymore. Spill.

× Me: …

× Me: What do you mean?

× Kaveh: >_> Don't play dumb. 

× Me: (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

× Kaveh: That's adorable, I'm stealing it.

× Kaveh: Okay, girl, spill now or else.

× Me: Is just… I'm worried. Al-Haitham was acting very strange, and I believe we're missing something crucial that caused his distress.

× Kaveh: I think you're overthinking way too much, dear. Perhaps it might be your love for him talking.

The punch you throw at him doesn't hurt, he knows that, and yet, he feigns dramatically that you've broken all the bones on his arm. 

× Me: You're so annoying!!! Stop!!

× Kaveh: :P 

× Me: I just want to make sure we're okay. I don’t know why he lied :( 

× Kaveh: How about this; I'll talk to him later today and let you know how it goes. If he is upset or anything, I can solve the problem easily.

You nod, extending your arm on top of the table to reach for his hand. Kaveh doesn't take long to grab your hand and smile soothingly.

“Everything will be okay,” he says slowly. “Now that I think about it…”

You don't catch the last thing he says, watching him go back to his phone and type quickly with a determined expression.

× Kaveh: Okay so I've been thinking…

× Me: Rare occasion.

× Kaveh: Shut up! Look, I've been thinking that it would be a good idea for you to ask Al-Haitham on a date. 

× Me: Huh? No? 

× Kaveh: You should try asking him before he goes back to Sumeru on the spring break.

× Kaveh: I've heard he's reuniting with some old friend of his and, you know how it goes, maybe a childhood love might bloom.

× Me: :((((((

× Kaveh: Okay, sorry, maybe not that. But I do think you should try to ask him out, if only to give yourself a chance.

× Me: I don't want to ruin things between us. I like our friendship, and would love to keep it instead of jeopardizing it.

× Kaveh: That's such a big word for you! 

× Me: Kaveeeehhhhhhh :((((((

× Kaveh: Okay! Sorry! But think about it if you can. I'd love for my friends to date each other :( And I believe he won't say no. No one would be able to resist such a cutie like you (⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥

Oh, this man.

Whilst it is a wistful wish to date the one you fell in love with, his feelings on the matter is what makes you hesitate. This is not the first time you've thought about it, and won't be the last until you gather the courage to confess.

And Al-Haitham won't hate you if you say what you really feel, nor will he stop being your friend; but the lingering feeling of rejection will always be present and mocking you whenever you see him. 

Archons know how long it will take for you to heal from the whole ordeal if he really says no.

× Me: I'll think about it (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

× Kaveh: I'm going to pretend to believe you. BUT just know if he breaks your heart, I'll kick his ass into the stratosphere (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ And that's a threat.

You giggle behind your hand, eyes filled with mirth and joy from his encouragement. Kaveh feels like he has accomplished something good today if your happiness is anything to go by. 

× Kaveh: Let's go home, it's getting a little late. I'll walk you back to the dorms (⁠づ⁠￣⁠ ⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠づ

True to his words, he keeps you company the way back with both your hands clasped together the entire time. He would sometimes twirl you around to get you to laugh, sometimes would lay his arm around your shoulders to squeeze you affectionately when crossing the road; Kaveh keeps his touch present and as a supporting weight when you reach the building and kiss his cheek goodnight.

He waves back at you before you close the door, leaving him alone with his own worries and thoughts swirling in his mind.

The trek back home wasn't far, and it gave him plenty of time to think about his course of action before sitting down with Al-Haitham and talk about whatever happened earlier that day.

And if both are in the mood to keep the conversation going, he will try and prod information from him about his thoughts about you.

Perhaps he can be the cupid between you two?

‘I just want her to be happy,’ is what he thinks, sighing tiredly. 

Anything for you.

— x — x  — x — x — x — x  — x — x — x — x  — x —

Kaveh calls you a few days later. 

The vibration from your phone isn't enough to wake you up, sleeping right past it until midday when you realize you've slept way too long and have wasted precious hours of the day.

It takes a while for you to read your notifications and bark a laugh at Kaveh's multiple apologies for calling you when he knows you cannot hear. 

It doesn't offend you in the slightest, rather you find it hilarious because his enthusiasm knows no bonds to have forgotten something so obvious. 

× Me: Miraculously I can hear again! What is it? Let me hear your voice! 

It doesn't take long to see him online and typing already. You can even imagine the worried frown between his eyebrows and his pout in nervousness before he sends a message.

× Kaveh: In my defense!!!!!!!! Nothing…

× Kaveh: I'm dumb, I'm sorry. 

× Me: It was a silly mistake. If anything, I find it rather amusing.

× Kaveh: This is not for you to be making fun of me!

× Me: Why not? I think it's hilarious.

× Kaveh: ༼⁠;⁠´⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠۝ ⁠༎ຶ⁠༽

× Me: What the fuck is that.

× Kaveh: Oh so now is not funny anymore HUH

× Me: Kaveh that’s the most disgusting kaomoji you’ve ever sent. I’m sending you to prison.

× Kaveh: You're just jealous you'll never be him.

× Me: THANK GOD

× Kaveh: Ksdksngkdf ANYWAY!! Listen, I talked to Al-Haitham and we're good. He was annoyed I was being too loud and rather leave than start an argument with so many people around.

× Kaveh: You know how he is, a calm person and all. He's okay, I'm okay, and no, he's not mad at you. 

× Kaveh: Sooooo, want to come and grab dinner later? We can order take-out and maaaaaybeeeee, just maaaaaybe help me study for my next test (⁠๑⁠´⁠•⁠.̫⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠`⁠๑⁠)

Tempting, you think.

It's almost time for lunch, and you’ve spent most of your day sleeping away rather than being productive with the short time you have between classes, studies and exams. If you were to finish your duties before five and take a shower around six, you might be able to get there by seven or around that time to have dinner with them. 

Make lunch, clean the bathroom, wash your clothes and hang them to dry, clean your room a little bit. Humming to yourself, you think you might be able to make it on time and spend the night at their apartment without a hitch. 

× Me: Okay, I see no problems :) I'll be there by 7. Is it okay if I crash to sleep there?

× Kaveh: OH MY GOD YOU ARE AN ANGEL, AND YES OFC!! We can have a slumber party after studying. I literally cannot study alone because I get easily distracted and Al-Haitham doesn't want to help me (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠)

× Me: Kaveh… you never want to listen to him. 

× Kaveh: That's because he's boring! That man isn't build for teaching ಠ⁠∀⁠ಠ

× Me: Try to keep yourself alive by the time I come, okay? Study as best as you can and I'll help out with the rest. 

× Kaveh: You're a real lifesaver! Let me know when you are on your way and send your location to keep track of you, alright? 

× Me: Okay! Don’t forget to eat lunch :)

And that's how you have your day booked.

To know both Kaveh and Al-Haitham were okay with each other was enough to feel relief wash throughout your entire system, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders and now you can easily breath without guilt nagging you. Despite the question mark as to why he opted to lie back then, you were happy to overlook it and focus on the good outcome.

Your day goes by with you running this way to the other to get things done and ready before you leave. There is the lingering thought of your conversation with Kaveh from a few days ago while you finish your tasks, entertaining the idea and even considering it with how joyful you were feeling.

You only hope that motivation stays until you arrive at their home.

Once on the streets, with your bag full of books and a change of clothes, you let Kaveh know you are on your way but don't receive an immediate reply.

Not even when you reach the apartment complex, greet the receptionist and take the elevator, there is no sign of your friend and you wonder if something bad has happened for him to ignore you completely.

You decide to message Al-Haitham instead, despite the butterflies roaming your entire being and warmness spreading on your cheeks.

× Me: Hey, is Kaveh okay? I sent him a message before coming but he hasn't answered yet :(

It doesn’t take long for him to reply.

× Al-Haitham: Hey, door is open. 

The reply is ominous without the intention to be. 

You open the door bracing for the worst.

The books scattered on his dinner table should have been enough to disperse any doubt of a catastrophe. Mouth slightly agape and surprised to see the desperation on Kaveh's face when he realizes you’ve arrived, and sure enough, the calamity seems to be himself with how exhausted he looks.

“Help,” he signs, and you can't help but laugh after a long pause. From all the words you've taught him, that one stuck to him like a life liner.

Nodding, you clean up the table and stack the books to the side to make room for you. Kaveh helps bring some books to the sofa, giving you enough space to open your notebooks and notes to start revising what he hasn't checked yet.

A buzz from the phone startles you, picking it up to see a message from Kaveh.

× Kaveh: What do you want to eat? I'll order now so we can focus ←⁠(⁠>⁠▽⁠<⁠)⁠ﾉ

× Me: Hmmm, do you want Japanese food? I've been craving katsudon lately. 

× Kaveh: Oh, yeah sure! I'll order ramen then. Let me ask stinky ass man what he wants and we're ready to go.

× Me: Don’t call him that >:(

× Kaveh: :P 

Kaveh leans back and yells down the hallway, “Hey, Haitham! Wanna eat ramen, or sushi? I don't know whatcha want. We’re going to order from Wangmins.” 

Al-Haitham's head pops out of his room, frowning deeply and seemingly annoyed. 

“I can hear you just fine, no need for yelling.” he walks out, shaking his head. “I don't want anything, thank you.”

You perk up when he waves at you, returning the greeting with a little more eagerness than you anticipate. But he seems to not mind, the shadow of a smile gently hovering over his lips and a nod of his head is enough to have you kicking your feet in excitement. 

Nudging Kaveh's arm, you point at your friend's clothes, curiosity filling your eyes when he walks past the dinner table and straight to the mirror. 

‘He looks rather handsome today.’ your eyes follow him from head to toe, blushing for ogling so shamelessly.

Kaveh whistles loudly, noticing Al-Haitham's fit. He seems to have dressed more elegantly than ever, brushing his hair in front of the mirror next to the door and smelling his cologne swift in the air and heavy on the nose.

“You look way too fancy today, what's the occasion?” he asks absently.

“I'm going out with Nilou.”

Kaveh freezes upon his words, blinking slowly and eyes going from where you're sitting to Al-Haitham, unaware of the shift in mood. You nudge him quietly, awaiting for a response to fulfill your curiosity.

“A date.” he spells, and he regrets doing so when he notices your expression break slightly. 

Oh.

“Man, that's um…that's new.” Kaveh scratches the back of his neck, surprised by the news. “Didn't know you were interested in that.”

Al-Haitham shrugs nonchalantly, checking his phone every few seconds and fixing the collar of his turtleneck, “She asked me, and I said yes. What's so weird about that?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing! Just never expected it from you…” He coughs awkwardly, not knowing how to continue the conversation, “What time are you coming home?”

“I don't know, probably late. Don't wait for me.” Grabbing his keys and the wallet from the table, he bids goodbye over his shoulder before closing the door behind him with an echoing thud.

For a couple of minutes, he doesn’t say anything in fear of breaking the dreaded atmosphere Al-Haitham has left behind in the awakening of the news of his date. 

Kaveh is fiddling with his pen nervously, unable to look you in the eyes because he knows the expression he’s wearing is neither pleasant nor helpful to the situation. Because just like you, he lingers in this limbo of uncertainty that he can’t seem to comprehend.

He idly wonders if he should have said anything at all. This outcome is not one he predicted nor thought possible in his wildest imagination; and the fact that you're now hurt because of his words and encouragement is making things worse for him.

The fault doesn’t fall on either of you, and Kaveh is aware you won’t hold this against him because feelings are out of anyone's control

And at the end, even if heartbreak is disheartening and ignites horrible emotions from within your soul, it is better to know it now than later.

Losing a battle that has never begun hurts more than you’ve ever thought.

When the first sobs go past your sealed lips, Kaveh's resolve breaks at once.

There is not a second of hesitation from him when he tosses his things to the side to cradle you between his arms and you latch onto him as your anchor.

The reciprocation serves to let him know this was the right action to take, losing stabilization that makes both of you slide down to the floor clumsily, but still in each other's arms.

Kaveh tries to fix you on his lap to let you rest comfortably, hand running down your back in soothing motions while you cry quietly against his chest.

It goes on for a long time, but he doesn't let go of you for a second. 

He can’t even say anything to make you feel better and it's frustrating. Not because of you, but because Kaveh isn’t good enough to communicate that everything will be alright. You don’t need that idiot who doesn’t realize how wonderful you are and it’s missing it out for a person who isn't worth the time—no offense to Nilou, she's a nice person, but you are more important than any other woman.

Biting his lip, he runs his fingers through your hair softly while you cry. He gets tangled easily between the fringes of hair, and Kaveh panics slightly when he gets stuck and is unable to detangle without causing a mess or pulling your roots. But when he hears you whine, and break a little laugh at his attempt at comforting you and messing up, he smiles softly, kissing the top of your head gently.

You tap the arm that’s holding your waist, catching his attention and making some distance to see your face. Kaveh frowns at your expression, cleaning a stray tear and cupping your cheek, thumb running soothingly under your eye. 

With trembling fingers, you start spelling slowly to him, “I’m sorry.”

Kaveh shakes his head, smiling reassuringly at you. His reply is slow, too, vocalizing every syllable, “Don’t be.”

“My fault.”

It's not your fault, he wants to say, but shortens it with a shake of his head. 

Conflicting emotions swirl inside of you, each one unable to place a name or intensity, that sends you into an overwhelming state of sadness.

Never in your life have you experienced something this strong that could make you ill with a snap of your fingers, rendering you weak and detached from your reality.

It still feels like a fever dream when you think about Al-Haitham trying to court someone, the ugly jealousy hurling inside your chest and your brain creating unnecessary images that do nothing to help your case nor fragile feelings.

Overthinking has always been your strong suit, despite trying to get rid of that bad habit for a long time; and it shows clearly that’s still ever so present when Kaveh shifts from under you, his big palm patting your head with care, and the tears well up in your eyes rather quickly with his show of affection because you selfishly wish this was Al-Haitham.

Falling in love is not as easy as romance books make it seem to be. It doesn't come with step by step instructions to help you get over the one you love, much less how to get the person of your affections when nothing seems to go your way.

The journey through the lands of unrequited love is a heavy one, one where you couldn't bring yourself to fathom severing the ties that bound you to him, even when the chance of Al-Haitham still hurting you unconsciously existed. Your love, though hopelessly one-sided, was a testament to the depth of your emotions—it’s bittersweet to try to find comfort in the idea that you might heal in the future, that you will get over him, but it lingers for a brief second before it vanishes completely.

And you rather be hopeless in love than to lose this cherished feeling you’ve cared for a long time.

Your brain runs down a mile, thought after thought, tears after tears, until you are left bare and dry from crying and fall asleep in Kaveh's arms.

turns out i am not immune to the gambler man

L+ratio+ur mom 🫵

Dr.RatiooOOooOo

All these new Penacony characters gonna make me broke in every way possible 🧎🧎but I would thank them for it

AVENTURINE!!!!!!!!!!! manifesting for u pls

Alhaitham in his normal outfit and in the Dr Ratio outfit

L + RATIO + Welcome on the express !! 💛

Honkai: Star Rail Mini Illustrations Collection (20/?)

Day 16 one more dr ratio!

Honkai: Star Rail Character Eidolons | Dr. Ratio